


Omega Choice

by General_Button, ice_evanesco



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omega!Mycroft, Omegaverse, Semi-Crack, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_evanesco/pseuds/ice_evanesco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, instincts say twins, and really, are you going to question what genetics has coded into my brain?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omega Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This started because Buttons and I started discussing Omegaverse, and how we could put our own twist on it, then it developed from a short snippet into an entire fiction collaboration.

Mycroft prepared for his Heat as any other conscientious omega would; he planned the date and anything surrounding it to the T, with flexibility lest anything trigger it early. He always planned two to three days grace from his position, knowing he would be no use anxiously awaiting the Heat whilst working in such an intellectually demanding environment.

The politician slipped out of bed that morning, aware Gregory would be long gone by now. He knew waiting was a ridiculous notion, even if Mycroft’s Heat was coming on; he had a job to do. Until Mycroft said otherwise.

The omega felt a bit hot, a bit damp in his clothing, pawing at it absently. Yes. He was deliciously close. The discomfort now would only transform into a rampant need for his alpha. Mycroft shivered delicately, imagining the scenarios with a vivid mind, tongue tracing his lower lip absently. He fully accepted his role—it was an honored one.

Omegas, the very rare and the very few were respected in their positions, though the thought of any omega taking any other role than to bear children fruitfully was not encouraged. Mycroft, of course, was hardly one to back down to such an interesting challenge and made his way up the ladder, despite an alpha or meager beta protests, bypassing the glass ceiling so many were grounded by.

Mycroft ate his breakfast efficiently, the food doing little for him when other thoughts permeated his mind;. toast and some fruit were consumed without much thought. Once the dishes were done and the kitchen pristine, Mycroft walked back to his bedroom and onto the king-sized bed, knowing it could be hours—or minutes—until his body would demand the alpha’s call. Mycroft slipped off his clothing and padded naked to his drawer, pulling out the various lubricants (vanilla, green tea, cherry, strawberry, grape, pineapple)—even though they most likely wouldn’t come to use—and a few toys, just in case. He set them on top of the bed, carefully in his reach before he laid down next to them.

He was feeling particularly ripe, the heat in his belly curling pleasantly. Mycroft turned onto his stomach and arched, sighing softly when he felt his hole clench pleasantly. Oh, he was _close_.

Another half of an hour passed, and Mycroft was sweating. His hand shook, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. He bore down, whining when fluid sluiced down his thighs. He was ready. He was so ready.

Mycroft fumbled for his phone, dialing 3, running his free hand up and down his chest—nails raking softly, _oh_ — as he waited, anticipation and something entirely base churning inside of him.

Greg was skidding down an alley, chasing down a small-time hoodlum turned accidental murderer when his phone rang with the sound of the anthem. He paused for a moment, then made a decision and scrambled for his phone while the rest of his team passed him. Let them; they were young, fit alphas and betas, eager for glory and promotion, and the Government was calling. "H-hey." He gasped out, still trying to catch his breath.

Mycroft nearly purred at that; Gregory was in the middle of something - a chase, most likely - and had put it on pause for his omega's sake. "Hello," he replied, holding back none of his lasciviousness. "Are you busy, Gregory?" His voice hitched when his fingers brushed his nipple, legs drawing inward.

"Not now, my queen." The Detective Inspector said as he leaned against a grimy alley wall, grinning, " I wouldn't dare be busy when you call." Just a few meters away, his people had caught the murderer, and were arresting him.

Mycroft would have been embarrassed if he weren't so incredibly pleased with him. "Mmm, very smooth," he chuckled into the phone, fingers dancing across his skin. It was teasing and light, just enough to make him twitch and moan softly, skin over-sensitised. "You're so very good, Gregory. So extraordinary." His voice had taken on that breathless tone. "Do you know what I'm doing? Where I am? I'm in your bed— _our_ bed." The implication _waiting for you_ was there. A soft staccato of moans when he touched his cock, nestled against his lower abdomen, hard and aching.

"Well, an old fox's gotta learn some tricks to keep his omega close, innit?" Gregory grinned, before issuing some instructions to his officers. His attention snapped back to Mycroft when the other moaned, sending a thrill of desire down his spine. Damn it- Mycroft was playing him with auditory cues; just one of the many ways that nature had gifted omegas to attract alphas. "God, Mycroft- is it time?" He licked his lips with a flash of tongue, and shifted slightly, just that bit more predatory.

His team regarded him warily, an alpha with his bond-mate in heat was dangerous to cross, their hormones giving them enhanced strength, another biological defence that allowed them to protect their mates. A bonded alpha was the ultimate success, to be chosen by an omega was a privilege that few had. Omegas only made up 5% of the population, and to breed an omega child was a honour to the family line. Alphas outnumbered them at 20%, which meant that only 1 in 4 alphas had a chance of bonding with an omega. A bonded alpha was superior to an unbonded one; they had the desirable characteristics. An unbonded alpha was a supposedly unpredictable, hormone fueled brute.

Mycroft shifted, cheeks staining high as liquid seeped between his thighs onto the towels he had laid there. To hear his alpha, to know he was close, was sending him spiraling towards his first Heat, hot and unrelenting. His toes dug into the duvet, hips twitching up into his own hand. "Yes," he hissed. "It's time. Gregory." He may have used theatrics in that instance, but Gregory always went wild when he sounded particularly breathless.

"I'm mad for you. I'm so-" his breath hitched and he arched "-so _empty_. It aches. Hurry Gregory. You've no idea how hard you make me. I dare say I'm _dripping_." He sounded smug, the sound smooth as dark chocolate. "Your voice, Gregory. I'm waiting for you, for you and your— I—" he let the phone drop, Heat hitting him hard.

From the smirks Donovan was giving him, and the glances south of the beltline as his trousers tightened, Greg knew he was fast approaching arousal, if not already there. "Damn it, Mycroft-" His voice was a guttural groan, his head tilting back to thump against the brick wall. "You tease. I'm on my way-" He looked down again, and issued more instructions to Donovan, who he was grooming for promotion (a capable unbonded alpha who defied stereotypes with a logical mind and leadership abilities, despite whatever Sherlock said), before excusing himself, looking for a sleek black car that was already waiting.

It was an eternity of moments later that he arrived at the home they now shared in Kensington, and Gregory nearly leapt from the moving car to race up to the house, impatient. He fumbled with the assortment of keycodes, actual keys, various body part scans and voice recognition software before gaining access into his own home. The rush of hormones that scented the air flooded his lungs, and he slammed the door shut, and kicked off his shoes, heading up to their second floor bedroom and Mycroft.

It has been no easy feat for Mycroft remove himself from their bed. It had taken some time, but eventually his quivering thighs had strengthened enough that he could make it out of bed without falling over. When he was sufficient in fortitude, Mycroft went into their bathroom. The shower was turned on, and the omega waited until it came to a neutral, lukewarm temperature to get in. Lord knew things were going to get hot.

He smirked briefly, some of his fever washed away with the sweat that had collected on his body. Mycroft reached for his favorite bottle of soap just as he heard the faint slam of the door, skin already lighting on fire. Alpha pheromones slowly made their way through their home, growing stronger as Gregory came closer.

Mycroft’s fingers dipped and he gripped himself, unable to keep from moaning obscenely. “Gregory,” he panted, hoping the alpha would put two and two together, realizing he was in the shower and oh so ready for him. Mycroft pressed his palms onto the wall and stretched, bearing down on that insistent itch inside of him. He cried out in relief, but it was hardly adequate. Not at all like a nice, thick, alpha cock. Mycroft closed his eyes and groaned.

Gregory shucked off his clothes as he approached the bedroom, not needing or wanting the fabric against his now sensitive skin. Cufflinks fell carelessly against the dresser top, and the jacket flew to a corner of the room. The air was thick with Mycroft's scent and arousal, and the towel the physical proof. He slid off the leather belt against his waist, and coiled it, prolonging the tension, knowing Mycroft could smell him, and hear him. A simple door was their only barrier now. He set the coil down, and entered the bathroom.  
Mycroft was absolutely delicious in his yearning state, fingers in himself, body moving in a dance of seduction and want that clearly needed two.

The older man watched, and savored, the hot, humid air pressing against his skin almost like a physical presence. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and stepped into the shower, still clothed. "You tease." He murmured, tugging his lover's mouth down onto his own, fingers tugging on the slick reddish hair. Mycroft was taller than him, but it hardly mattered to Gregory, who didn't buy into the stereotype of a petite, delicate omega anyway. He nipped at Mycroft's lower lip, sucking on it before kissing him again.

Mycroft surged against Gregory, taking his face in his hands to kiss him breathlessly, lips pulling at his alpha’s sharply. “I must get _something_ out of this bargain.” He stole another kiss, licking his way deeply into Gregory’s mouth. “It’s terribly unfair that I want you so much.” Mycroft was surprisingly coherent, and rubbed his throbbing prick against his lover’s trousers—the pain distracted him some.

"I don't know, you're getting me out of this bargain, that's plenty." Greg murmured, kissing the side of Mycroft's mouth, and his jaw, pulling his wrist to breathe in the scent, before kissing it. "It's biology that makes you want me so much."

“You’re soiling your clothing,” Mycroft murmured in retort, not particularly caring either way. Gregory looked so very fetching in his wet shirt, but he would look even better with it off. “It’s uncouth.” Mycroft pulled his shirt off of him with some difficulty, squirming against his thigh. A low whine escaped and he clung to Gregory’s shoulders, shuddering.

“Gregory.” It was torture to have him so close, his hard cock that filled him with so many promises so close and yet— and yet—

"You use my likes as a weapon against me." Greg complained, even as he helped Mycroft remove the shirt that clung to his frame, "And I like it too much that you do." The clothing was soon wriggled out of and tugged off, and Gregory paused, pressing Mycroft into the cool tiles, pinning him with his body. Summoning his reserves of patience, well-honed after years of dealing with a stroppy omega Sherlock, he said calmly, "What activities shall we engage in next?" He pressed kisses into Mycroft's neck and clavicle, grinning.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Gregory’s neck, mind already cloaked with need; higher thought process was hardly something to be expected at this point, and he had no idea how Gregory wasn’t gagging for it, at least outwardly. Mycroft flinched when kissed, bursts of warmth that made wanton moans slip past his lips.

Why was he waiting so long? He knew what Mycroft wanted, what he needed. After a particularly conflicting moment between wanting to get closer and position himself enticingly, the omega reluctantly let go of his lover, shaking with arousal and _need_ , planting his hands on the shower wall. “Gregory, don’t tease. You know exactly.” He panted briefly. “Fuck me.” The delicate hiss of the f and the sharp edge of the k were characteristic of Mycroft; even the foulest of language could sound eloquent coming from his lips. And really fucking sexy.

Mycroft spread his legs and bowed his head, shuddering when liquid slipped down his thighs. He’d been secreting it steadily but the water had washed much of it down. Surely, surely Gregory couldn’t resist. His hole fluttered and twitched, clenching down on an agonizing nothing. “Now!” he barked, practically a plead. He couldn’t possibly wait anymore. When Greg’s hands gripped his hips, Mycroft moaned, long and low, hips swaying tantalizingly.

Of course, instead of pushing in and satisfying his impatient omega's obvious needs, Gregory went onto his knees behind Mycroft, pressing his face against one of the taut globes of flesh, and biting, marking Mycroft as his own. Then a warm tongue laved over the bite, before he sucked gently.

He used his tongue to catch the clear secretion, licking up all the way to the source. His teeth scraped as he gently nibbled, ever the tease, the trickster fox.

Mycroft _wailed_. Unexpected and entirely indecent, Gregory’s tongue trailed over him obscenely. Intimate and intrusive, Mycroft couldn’t imagine it coming from anyone else. No; no one else could possibly—

“My god,” Mycroft moaned, fingers curling against the wall. He couldn’t keep from crying out, hips rotating against the maddening touch. So warm and wet and _inside_ , but not enough. Never enough. Mycroft keened when Greg’s tongue pushed inside of him deeply (ohh, how did he _manage_?), uselessly pushing back.

Gregory pulled back again, knowing that Mycroft would be yearning even more now that he had gotten a taste. The man traced his tongue against the delicate skin, pulling away immediately when Mycroft tried to push, rewarding the other with a slap on the arse.

He waited until the other settled down before resuming, taking his time, slowly building up the pleasure and tension and want until he could almost hear Mycroft want to scream for it. Patient in all else, Mycroft was reckless and relentless in his pursuit of his own gratification and absolutely hated to be denied. Greg loved it, the denial, the torture of making Mycroft wait. Maybe he was a little masochistic himself, pushing down his own desires just to tease the younger man. The agitated slide of his lips across smooth skin, rippling under his touch was as gratifying as the scent that permeated the whole bathroom.

It smelled like lust, harsh and raging underneath his skin. Liquid fell onto his tongue, sharp and sweet, the scent filling his nostrils, clogging his senses. He wanted Mycroft; more than anything he’d like to bury himself to the hilt and watch him come apart. But he couldn’t remove his lips from lapping at him, even though his cock twitched _painfully_ in his trousers, soaked.

Gregory was about as desperate as Mycroft. It was only when he gave the final push, the final keening note that Gregory tore his trousers and pants off, throwing them carelessly to the side of the shower. Immediately Mycroft was clinging to him, nails scraping across his back as they kissed furiously. “Fuck,” Gregory swore, slamming his omega against the wall. Waiting had no place in that moment.

He lifted Mycroft’s hips and spread his thighs, distracted enough to kiss him again, unconcerned that their teeth clicked and maybe they were a bit eager, because it was just so _good_. The waves of pleasure crested over as he pressed against his lover, waiting a mere moment, just to see that look on his face. The agony was exquisite, and then he buried himself to the hilt.

Mycroft gave a punitive cry, arms tightening around Gregory’s neck, reduced to harsh pants. “More,” he breathed into his neck, shuddering when the alpha’s pheromones made his need greater. It felt so good, so perfect to have him inside, curving and reaching so _deep_. It still wasn’t enough though, and he pushed against the first thrust, moaning gratefully.

“Deeper, you must go deeper,” he tried to convey what he was feeling, how _desperate_ he was, how he needed his cock to stretch all the way to the most intimate part of himself, fluttering and waiting for sweet, sweet release.

It was by some miracle that through the cloud of pheromones Gregory was able to think logically. He tried to move, to pull back, but his body shook with effort. He didn’t want to leave the tight heat. God, it was so good, so perfect. “Yes, yes,” Mycroft encouraged, wiggling his hips, and it was then that he realized he was saying it out loud.

“God, perfect. So good, Mycroft. My. I need to pull out. I— we can’t knot here. You’re so gorgeous,” he babbled, giving a few shallow thrusts and earning a wanton moan. Being connected made everything a little less cloudy once he’d breached the haze and he managed to pull out, and tugged Mycroft towards the bedroom, grabbing towels as he did. The way there was difficult, though. He kept stopping to kiss and nip at Mycroft’s body, earning shaky moans and mindless rutting against the walls before they made any progress.

Gregory tossed the towels on the bed before making Mycroft lay on them. His mind was already shifting again, thoughts a jumble as Mycroft pleaded with him, demanding, “Now, Gregory. Do it!” He gladly pulled his thighs apart and thrust inside the quivering heat without preamble, lips attaching to his neck.

Mycroft clawed at the sheets, panting, even as the grip on the nape of his neck tightened, and his body clenched down on the hard member within him. "More-" his husky, throaty voice was a purr, a demand, a plea.

Gregory bit down even harder, knowing there would be bruising, if not an open wound when they were done, his body pinning Mycroft down. It was animalistic, even as his nails scratched lines into the other's rib cage, and he pushed in harder, moved faster.

Gregory took a deep breath, inhaling Mycroft's scent, assessing it. It was something all alphas did, assess their omegas. With a breath or two, their minds could tell them about their omega's health and stability, and the chances of them getting pregnant with that particular heat.

Mycroft's scent was musky and sweet, like vanilla, the real, expensive stuff, not the chemically synthesized nonsense. Stressed (since when was his omega not? A job in politics was never easy), but healthy, and they had a pretty good chance of getting a child... maybe even twins.

Lestrade drew back for a moment, his instinct as an alpha clashing with his logical mind. Once a pair was bonded, it was easier to think during heats. Instinctively he wanted children—any alpha would, being born to breed the next generation. Logically, he did as well but the dangers and demands of their respective careers was a daunting and seemingly insurmountable barrier to domestic, child-rearing bliss. He couldn't and wouldn't expect Mycroft to leave his job and he wouldn't put his bond-mate into a situation where this could happen without prior warning. Logic was conducive to a long lasting relationship, instinct would only cause a row when lust was sated.

In any case, it was the omega choice that made the final decision. Omega choice was a law in both society and science, and dictated that omegas, as the carriers of the future generations, chose their compatible alphas. The bonded pair were equal in status, but most alphas were more likely to defer to their omega mates in matters of reproduction, childbirth and child-rearing.

It hadn't been like that at first. Originally, they had functioned with an alpha choice principle, and omegas, originally 25% of the population, had been brutally abused and exploited, to the extent that parents started to abort their unborn omega children.

Mycroft tilted his head back lazily, exposing a long column of pale, unmarked neck as he looked up at the man hovering over him. "What's wrong?"

Greg licked his dry lips and said, "Say, how do you feel about twins?"

Mycroft wriggled under him, and Greg shifted off. It was a little late for a discussion, considering penetration had already been achieved, though not ejaculation, but Greg had returned home to Mycroft in the shower. And with the sight of a wet, dripping Mycroft, he needed to shower urgently, of course.

"Twins?" Mycroft's eyes were slightly wider than normal as he moved to recline on the stack of pillows. He was not given to dramatic changes of expression, unlike Sherlock, who could turn from a calm spring breeze into a summer typhoon with little notice. "You mean that's a possibility? I'm not exactly twenty."

"Well, instincts say twins, and really, are you going to question what genetics has coded into my brain?" Greg said, nuzzling Mycroft, who tried to bat him off absently.

"Mm, no, but twins?" Mycroft mused, even as Greg trailed fingers down his thigh and up again, shifting to suck a hickey into the pale skin, "Pay attention, Gregory-"

Greg rested his head on Mycroft's lap and looked up, "Yeah?"

"What if they turn out like Sherlock?"

Greg snorted loudly, "Heavens forbid!"

"That's my brother you're speaking about. A moderation of your vehemence might be prudent." Mycroft's voice suddenly turned stern, even as his foot planted on Greg's shoulder to shift the other right off his thigh.

Greg gave a rather un-alpha-like whine and clung to Mycroft's leg, cajoling with a glint of humour in his eyes, "I'm sorry, your brother is lovely and gentle and sweet, and he's a godsend to my unworthy team, oh how will we all ever repay your parents for spawning such a beautiful treasure-"

Mycroft's hand whipped up to cover an indelicate snort, before he laughed.

Greg grinned playfully, before saying, "So- twins?"

Mycroft laughed, his long fingers stroking the thick silvery hair of his bonded mate, "Well, we're not getting any younger, birth rates are falling, and we haven't produced our replacements-"

"That a yes, then?" Greg sat up, eagerly, grinning.

"You only want the sex." Mycroft said reprovingly, even as he leaned forward with pursed lips for a kiss.

"The kids are a bonus." Greg said tactfully as he leaned in to kiss Mycroft, "Helping the government raise the birth rates is a bonus as well." They were thinking much more clearly, connected, but the Heat still had its effect.

The kissing quickly turned dirty, lips and tongues colliding harshly, wet with fever. Greg’s cock twitched on Mycroft’s thigh, eager, more than ready. Mycroft parted his legs for the third time, gaze lowering hungrily as Gregory pushed in, groaning at the sensation of being filled once again, his fingers digging into the other man’s shoulders.

They moved awkwardly for a few moments, both eager and itching towards release, but when Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hips and thrust in smoothly, jerking his bonded forward, Mycroft threw his head back and moaned, fingers a vice on Gregory’s forearms.

“Ohh—there,” he gasped, unable to stem the sounds that spilled as Greg rolled into him, hot, hard and thick, large enough to brush against his prostate thoroughly. Mycroft’s own shouts drowned his ears as he came for the first time—one of many—heels digging into Greg’s back.

Mycroft might have worried about the state of his laundry then—if not for the steady pump of his alpha’s hips, breaching him, making him forget his own existence. Hardly sated, Mycroft writhed, pleasure making him thoughtless, a mere thing whose purpose was to have moremoremore, tossing his head against the duvet with breathless gasps, toes curling and prick dripping a small stream against his stomach, already aching for release.

"Ahh- Mycroft-" Gregory's voice was a strained moan as he pushed deep, fingers tightening when he felt the orgasm ripple through them both, kissing his omega's forehead, his nose nuzzling into sweat-damp skin.

"So eloquent," Mycroft teased in a breathless gasp, his fingers digging into his lover's arms, enjoying the sensations of being filled by that thick, hot length. So close, and so, so very good.

"I'm fucking you, doesn't need eloquence, just a cock and enough stamina." Greg retorted, punctuating his statement with a hard thrust. Mycroft felt the twitch of oncoming orgasm, lips parting for punitive cry as it rolled over him, a mere pulse–but ever so satisfying.

“You incorrigible-” a harsh gasp “-flirt,” Mycroft joked, managing it well enough. His mind was barely with him, rotating his hips in an attempt to get him deeper. The itch far, far inside was only touched by his cock, barely qualifying as a scratch. Gregory opened him up so satisfyingly—but it wasn’t quite enough. “Deeper,” Mycroft demanded, sounding more like a plea when his expression twisted. He was flushed, debauched completely, and he still managed to command.

“God, I just— how can I?” Greg panted, rhythm beginning to falter. How he held out this long, which was an embarrassingly short period itself, was a mystery. “You’re just— it’s like you’re sucking me in. Fuck, Mycroft. You’re so gorgeous like this. So sexy.” He pushed in deep, not ramming him, but rather rolling his hips, completely unrelenting. Mycroft squirmed and shouted, unabashed as he wrapped his legs tightly around Gregory to pull him in, spasming as another orgasm hit, adding to the puddle on his stomach.

"Gregory!" Mycroft's voice was a growl, almost, but it wasn't the right angle, the other man wasn't deep enough- "Not- Not enough- more-"

"Since when is it ever enough for you?" Greg grinned, morphing into a grimace when he finally buried himself as deep as Mycroft wanted, because— _oh_. Mycroft arched hard, a wretched sound ripped from his throat as another orgasm hit, harder than before, more intense, crashing through him in waves.

“I- ” Mycroft couldn’t speak, not when he finally felt Gregory’s knot, already somewhat swollen before they had even come together, expand and press against his sphincter, managing some resistance before it slipped in. Mycroft _moaned_.

Gregory shifted again, teasing Mycroft with the stretch, pleased to watch his omega whine as he was squeezed thoroughly. "God, I love it when you're so tight- so hot-" His voice was hoarse, even as he continued to move within Mycroft in a rocking motion.

The younger man whimpered, "Greg- please-" He didn't know if he wanted Gregory to continue, or stop, his body feeling overburdened with sensation, every nerve on fire, set alight by the rapturous pleasure of the Heat and the multiple orgasms from the enhanced sensitivity.

And now Gregory was moving, rubbing against sensitive spots so deep inside him, nearly-inflated knot brushing his prostate vigorously— he sobbed in pain and pleasure as yet another orgasm wracked through him, and Gregory hadn't yet reached his climax— he wanted to beg for it all to just end, even when he was nearly _bursting_.

His nails dug into Gregory's back, and clawed down in harsh strokes speaking of desperation. Finally, finally he came; Mycroft howled; the alpha filled Mycroft, erupting with a sharp cry, nearly a bark. His omega grew impossibly tighter, his body milking Gregory for every drop.

The heavy knot kept the two of them locked together then, and Mycroft shuddered at the sensations; the burning flames of his desire were finally being doused. 

He pressed his face into the crook of Gregory's neck with a soft sigh of satisfaction and relief. They carefully rolled to the side, the alpha's weight shifting off of Mycroft's exhausted form, limbs flopping astray. Gregory stroked his hair, pressing kisses into his moistened lips, nuzzling his temple. He left a trail of gentle kisses across Mycroft’s jaw, nosing at the skin of his neck before inhaling his scent.

"Rest now," Gregory murmured against his forehead.

“A tad difficult, I’m afraid,” Mycroft quipped, wiggling his hips. The movement left him shuddering as Greg continued to spill inside of him in short, separated bursts, but nonetheless his eyes slipped closed of their own accord and he relaxed— marginally. It was a bit awkward, admittedly, but it wasn’t anything they weren’t quite used to, and Mycroft rested as was possible, arms looping around Gregory’s waist. Before he noticed it, he was out cold, breathing soft puffs of air over his lover’s chest.


End file.
